


short days, long nights (tangled up with you)

by fortunatedaughter



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Secret Relationship, fluff and sex and humor what more could you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatedaughter/pseuds/fortunatedaughter
Summary: “Where the fuck is my bra, Lawson?” She hisses, grabbing for the first shirt-looking item she sees, not remembering that she’d worn a dress last night and not her usual jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket combo.Mike, for his part, merely waves his arms, panicking and acting as if is this close to losing his shit. And to think... it's only Blip at the door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> look i tried not to ship them. i really did. but there's just something about mike and ginny that pulled me in so here we are. this takes place obviously at a point where mike and ginny have gotten together, & are being general geek ass nerds about being together.
> 
> the title comes from it ain't love by jason derulo. un'beta'd, so all typos are my own. while the characters & premise of pitch are not. i'm just borrowing them for my own amusement.

The first time it happens is, honestly, pretty damn stupid. It’s before they’re even really aware that what they’re doing is going to become a _thing_ that happens with re-occurring frequency.

It’s for that reason alone, Ginny decides, that she almost gets caught half-naked in Mike Lawson’s hotel room.

Not because she actually lingered the morning after or because she woke up past 7am for the first time in three years or because she actually wants to bask in the warmth that is Mike pressed up against her back. No sir. Because Ginny doesn’t linger, she doesn’t wake up late and she doesn’t bask.

(In the handful of one night stands she’s had over the years, with unknowns from grimy bars who don’t spend their waking hours at baseball diamonds or following her batting averages or even the two hangers on that can manage to keep a secret, Ginny’s learnt a thing or two about one night stands. She’s always had a code for her personal relationships --- in and out, no breakfast, no coffee, no extra morning round.

And while she’ll readily admit that breaking her code for Trevor was something she did want, in hindsight, the shit she caught in Texas after the fact wasn’t worth it. 

(There’s a part of her that’s starting to believe that Mike might be worth breaking all of the rules she’s had, like ever, but. That’s a problem for future Ginny. Current Ginny has to deal with the fact she really doesn’t want to get out of his bed and go to training this morning.)

She’s lounging in his bed, wearing nothing but her underwear from the night before, eyes half closed against the pale Chicago sunlight coming in from the windows, acutely aware of Mike lingering in the bathroom doorjamb, toothbrush hanging from his lips as he watches her.

She cracks an eye open. “You’re staring.”

“Gazing.” He corrects around a mouthful of Colgate. “’Sides. It’s a nice view.”

She knows he’s not talking about the Chicago skyline. 

A snort of laughter leaves Ginny’s lips. “It’s creepy.”

“Romantic.”

And before Ginny can unpack that word, there’s a knock at the door. For a moment, it doesn’t even register, the sound doing nothing to penetrate the bubble that’s been created by sex and the early morning Chicago hours.

“Fuck.” The curse words sounds oddly devoid of anything emotional aside from, well – sheer and utter panic.

She launches herself from his bed, eyes wild and hair waving, blindly fumbling around the room for her scattered clothing.

“Yo! Lawson! Open the fuck up!” Blip’s muffled voice comes from behind the door and his fist bangs on the door a little louder.

Mike emerges from the bathroom, toothbrush no where near in sight and now wearing a plain shirt. Ginny for her part is still very much wearing what she was 30 seconds ago,

“Where the fuck is my bra, Lawson?” She hisses, grabbing for the first shirt-looking item she sees, not remembering that she’d worn a dress last night and not her usual jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket combo.

Mike, for his part, merely waves his arms, panicking and acting as if is this close to loosing his shit. And to think... it's only Blip at the door. He heads in for the door in question and Ginny tugs the shirt – _his shirt_ – over her head and darts for the bathroom, hiding behind the open door.

She counts to ten in her head, tries to calm her breathing

“Alright, alright, I’m up, let’s go.” Mike hedges, the jangling of his gym bag.

“Whoa, asshole, what’s the rush?” Blip questions, and he stops, and Ginny’s eyes close. She can practically hear the goddamn wheels turning in his head. “Have you got a girl in here?” 

“No.”

Blip laughs. “Oh my God, Mike Lawson let a girl stay till the morning.”

Mike scoffs. “Of course they still the morning, I’m not an asshole.”

“Debatable.” Blip fires back and Ginny can practically hear the patronizing look. “They never stay till after 7, _Michael_.”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Mike retorts, irritated and Ginny wonders if it’s because his view of her topless in his bed was cut short or if it’s because she’s still in the damn room. “Can we go or are you gonna continue makin’ up stories?” 

Blip laughs and the sound fades, the door closing moments later. 

Ginny for her part, hesitantly ventures out of the bathroom, lips pursed.

“That went well.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter... got me away from me? but i'm not at all sorry because the feels were real. much thanks & love to all the people left kudos on the previous chapter, it truly means a lot.
> 
> as always, all typos are my own and pitch does not belong to me. just borrowin' the characters for my own amusement.

“Hey.” He murmurs, coming up behind in her. She’s deep in the bowels of the corridors of Petco Park, right around the same spot where months ago he told her she was blowing him away. 

Everyone’s already cleared out, even the small time reporters hoping to catch players with off-hand comments and maybe if they’re lucky, a picture of something worth a couple grand to the right website. She’s thankful that Mike at least waited till everyone had cleared out to approach her, because at least this way she has a chance of holding his hand while they leave and not, you know, having to walk three steps apart with passive looks on their faces.

Ginny turns towards him, her bag falling from her shoulder to the shiny concrete ground. She smiles a moment later, shifting to lean her forehead up slightly to press against his own. “Hi.”

For a moment, they’re in that bubble again; much like the one they’d established that morning in Chicago. It’s just the two of them here in this moment, simply existing and relishing the feel of being together. It’s a new feeling, at least to Ginny it is. Her last relationship was quite literally the dictionary definition of _clusterfuck_ and even then she hadn’t felt nearly anything close to what she’s feeling now. Does it go away, this constant wanting and needing to be around them? She hopes it does, or at least lessens in its intensity. She’s note sure if she can handle wanting someone like that, constantly and consistently.

Her chin tips up and she presses her lips against his own for a moment, her hands cupping the sides of his face, the feel of his beard under her callused fingertips. She relishes in the feel of kissing him before the need to breathe burns against her lungs and her forehead presses against her own. She’s silent, smirking a moment later. “You gonna yell at me for that call-off in the fifth inning?”

He shook his head, laughing slightly. “Nope.”

“Nope? That’s a first.” She grins, one eyebrow rising in amusement. 

Mike scowls, but it’s tinged with fondness. “Shut _up_ Baker.”

“ **Make** me Lawson.”

His eyes darken almost automatically with want and desire, and Ginny, deciding to be just this shade of cruel, darts her tongue out, licking across her bottom lip.

And just like that – the bubble they’re in heats up, tinged with want and need, so consuming that the sharp inhale of her breath nearly staggers her.

“Ginny!” Amelia calls out from around the corner, clearly looking for her charge and sounding suitably distressed and

Ginny darts away from Mike as if she’s been burned and plasters an obviously over the top grin on her face.

“Later.” She mutters, picking up her bag and leaving the relative warmth of their bubble behind her.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, Ginny bursts through Mike’s apartment, gym bag traded for her overnight bag. (The sleeping over thing is sort of a new development, edging this side of risky. She's found it's worth it though. She gets to sleep in a nice bed with a human heater, not to mention, waking up Mike with her mouth on his cock is seemingly a lot better than waking up alone in her serviced apartment. But, details.)

There are two ice cold Stella Artois already sitting out on the kitchen counter and the smell wafting from the pan on the stove smells downright heavenly, the mixture of garlic, onion and butter tickling her senses just the right way.

“You cook?” Ginny questions.

His eyes dart up, looking at her as if she’s being just this side of stupid. “You see a maid lurking around this place?”

Ginny snorts. “That would be a resounding _no_. I’ve seen your bedroom.”

He laughs and Ginny smiles, relishing in the sound as she tips her beer to her mouth, taking a swallow of the icy cold brew. The silence that follows doesn’t feel like it’s choking her, something that’s again, oh so different from being with Trevor. She always felt as if she had to talk all the time and prove that just because she was a ball-player and one of the guys, that didn’t mean she wasn’t also a girl who could wear make-up and dress up. She had fill the silence that followed every lull in conversation when they stopped being able to talk about batting averages and what went better with burgers.

It’s not like that with Mike and Ginny isn’t sure what to make of it. It should scare her, but it doesn’t. Her fingertips fiddle with the label on the bottle of beer. “We’re gonna blow this, you know that right?”

Mike scoffs, and scrapes chopped up leeks into the pan, followed by arborio rice. “No, we’re not – “

Ginny sighs and takes another swing of beer. “We’ve gotten close to getting caught _twice_ , Mike. It’s only a matter of time.”

Mike straightens up, temporarily abandoning the chopping up of chicken. “You wanna end this, then?”

Her eyes dart up from the beer bottle and Ginny shakes her head. “No.” She stated, firmly. “I just… I’m already the go to reason for when anything goes wrong with the team. I don’t wanna be the reason for when people say that your game goes downhill.” It’s a silent fear she has – not at all helped by the fact that Al almost fired because, of well, **her.**  

Mike merely levels her with a look, one that highly suggests she’s being stupid, but starkly different from before since it’s tinged with something akin to fondness and dare she say it – love. “Baker. For one thing, if my game _does_ downhill it’s because my knees decide to hang it up and call it day. Not because I finally got my shit together and told one the best Padres’ rookie pitchers that she owns my ass. Alright?" 

And dammit – now she’s really emotional. Her lips press together trying to fight the watery smile blooming on her lips. “I own your ass, huh?”

He snorts, reaches a hand out to curl an errant curl around her ear, his fingertips trailing over the curve of her cheekbone. “Like that’s news to you, rookie."

She rounds the kitchen counter; beer abandoned and nearly throws herself into his arms. He doesn’t even hesitate, arms wrapping around her waist and holding her close. She pulls away a moment later and without hesitating, presses her lips to his. She licks into his mouth, in that dirty way she knows he likes. He moans quietly, fingertips’ pressing into the curve of her waist and shit, Ginny thinks, there goes dinner.

He turns the two of them, pressing her into the countertop and Ginny relishes the feel of the sharp edges pressing into the small of her back. A quite whimper falls from her lips as he kisses down the column of her throat, tugging the V neck of her shirt down to expose her plain cotton bra.

As he mouths a hickey into the swell of her breast and as her fingers curl into his hair, tugging with every swipe his tongue, she can’t help but think – _the human heart on average beats 4,800 times a day and I think I’m in love with you._


	3. Chapter 3

In the weeks following their discussion (and subsequent sex and burning of dinner) things between Ginny and Mike shift. 

It’s not longer just about acting on the sexual tension the two of them have somehow managed to rack up between them, about Ginny living up to the rumors that she hooks up with players despite Amelia _and_ Evelyn _and_ about 10 former teammates from the minors (who don’t actively hate her guts) backing her up to the media.

Ginny Baker and Mike Lawson are no longer just friends with benefits who sometimes have dinner that is often replaced by take-out because he’s often too busy going down on her on his couch to remember to put the chicken in the oven.

They’re not in a relationship, but they are in a _thing_ and it’s… it’s about to get really complicated. Because like it or not, the world wants a piece of her. They wanna know about her, be it what she does to stay in shape or what she eats on her cheat days or whether or not she’s going out with Andre St. Patrick, the new point guard for the Detroit Pistons who’s rumored to shake the whole game up.

She’s aware of course, that she can’t be normal. That she’s never going to be a normal girl who gets to pick dudes up in bars and take them home and she’s never going to be able to date anyone with out TMZ being called on her ass. She’s aware that even if she wasn’t the first woman in the MLB that she’d never quite be able to go about her sex life in anyway that men do, but hey. That doesn’t stop a girl from dreaming. 

It doesn’t stop her dreaming about having an actual date with her quasi-boyfriend, one that involves actual shoes and real life clothing and nice plates and cutlery and wine; not, you know, sitting around in Mike’s apartment in his shirt and her underwear, eating lo mien that went cold because they decided having sex on the kitchen counter was more pressing then you know, sustenance. 

The point is, what was once simple sex between consenting adults has turned into something that may become the first line of both Mike and Ginny’s biography. 

“Where the fuck is my brace?” Mike mutters, sulking around his apartment, trying his damn hardest not to show that he’s only slightly limping. Slightly. 

Ginny hides a smile in her dumplings. “Getting older, Gran’pa?”

“Fuck you, Baker.” He throws back without any heat, rummaging through his gym bag.

“Been there, done that, got the clean bill of health from the doctor.” She quips, just to be an asshole and well, she’s got sass. Mike’d think less of her if she held back just because he’s seen her naked.

Besides – she can practically feel the fond exasperation rolling off of him in waves, even more so when he stalks up the stairs looking for his brace; because his knee always gives him trouble when it rains and when they’ve got games coming up in Chicago. (Don’t ask her how she knows this. It’s one of those things she learnt right around the third time she showed up before his hotel room, six pack in one hand and take out in the other. Just like she learnt that he’s happy to just spend time with her, making out on his couch while a bad horror movie plays or that the scar from his appendix surgery five years ago is particularly sensitive to her teeth scraping along it right before she goes down on him.)

She exhales happily, reaching for the lo mien before stretching out on Mike’s couch, unapologetic as Mike’s shirt rides further up her thigh. Whatever, not like he’s going to care. If anything, he’s going to relish all every since of her bronzed skin that’s on display. Taking a bite of the lukewarm noodles, Ginny snorts. “You know if you keep puttering around, your food’s gonna go cold, Lawson!” Ginny yells, eyes focused on her sleek iPhone, scrolling through her twitter feed and not really noticing the front door opening.

“Ginny.” Amelia’s surprise shocks Ginny to her core, and she can’t even do anything for a whole solid minute.

(Of course it’s Amelia that’s the first to find out. Of course, the universe couldn’t cut her some slack and have it be, you know, Blip or Evelyn who’d make some gently ribbing comment but ultimately be supportive, so long as the two of them were, you know, _happy_. No, it has to be the one person most likely to pass judgment. And it’s gonna hurt more than anything because it’s Amelia and she has Ginny’s best interests at heart.)

Ginny sits up, setting aside her phone and food, crossing her legs as she turns to face her agent, all the while utterly unashamed about her state of undress. (It’s not like they’ve actually had sex tonight, more or less they got back to his place after practice, ordered food while she changed and well.) “Amelia.”

Amelia blinks, once, twice, three times, as if Ginny is just a mirage and not actually physically sitting on Mike’s couch in nothing but black underwear and his Padres’ shirt. “You’re here.”

She raises a cool eyebrow. “So are you." 

Amelia’s eyes narrow, not quite ready for the sass. “Yes, but I’m wearing clothes, you – you are wearing Mike’s shirt and nothing else.”

Ginny’s lips purse and she coolly glances over at her agent. “I don’t answer to you.” 

The blonde quirks her head in acknowledgement of the point. “That is true, but this –” 

“This is my personal life.” Ginny cuts across Amelia, that protective fire flashing through her eyes. “Something that is _not_ up for discussion, with you or with the public.” 

“Ginny, I am your agent.”

“Yes, and last I checked, my agent wasn’t hired to pass comment or judgment on my personal life.” She retorts. “And if she does I’m fairly certain I can find another one.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Amelia questions, switching gears so quickly that it nearly levels Ginny. What is she doing here? She’s recognized it’s no longer a friends with benefits, screw you on every flat surface available while the take out goes cold, kind of situation. She knows that. So why is she still here? Wasn’t the plan to get out if they left that situation behind?

She’s saved from answering by Mike, blessed angel that he is. “Amelia.” He stops at the bottom stare, brace in hand and glare on his features. It’s clear he was at least, on some level, surprised she showed up but judging by the wads of files in her hand, it wasn’t for anything other than something to do with the Padres. “I think you should go.”

Her mouth screws up. “I was just –“

“Out.” His tone leaves no room for argument and Ginny doesn’t exhale till the door is closed and Amelia’s blonde hair is firmly out of sight.

For a moment, no one says anything. The outing of their secret dalliance is something that’s gonna take a minute to get used to it, and while Ginny’s always been good at adapting to a situation, (how else was she supposed to pluck up the courage to meeting with a goddamn scout five days after her father died?) this is… different.

Mike scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, shuffling to fall into the spot next to Ginny. And despite the panic rising in her chest that she might have just gone a speck to far with Amelia, Ginny doesn’t hesitate in swinging her bare legs over Mike’s lap, rotating in her seat. 

His callused hands come to rub a soothing pattern along the curve of her calf before travelling down the to the arch of her foot. “You okay?” 

Ginny purses her lips, eyes fluttering at the impromptu foot massage. “I don’t know.” 

“Ginny –“ He sighs,

“This isn’t just a friend with benefits thing for me anymore.” She blurts out, sure that the words were going to get stuck if she held any of it back. “It’s – “ Can she say it? “I don’t know what it is, but it’s something." 

Mike is quiet for a moment, fingertips still pressing delicately into the skin of her foot. Ginny is this close to saying the hell with it and getting her mouth on him, if not to distract him from the words she spoke not even 30 seconds ago. “I know.” He replies, voice soft yet strong.

“You do?” Her eyes fly open.

Mike snorts. “M’not an idiot, Gin.” 

Ginny shoots him a look that clearly suggests she disagrees with that statement.

“Most of the time.” Mike allows, shrugging and Ginny grins. 

He turns back to the foot rub at hand, working the knots of tension that come from standing in cleats on a clay mound under unforgiving heat for seven innings day in, day out.

“It’s something for me too.” Mike mutters a moment later, tipping his gaze to level with her an important look that speaks volumes.

Ginny smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can believe it, i was going to space my writing of this over a week or so, try and ease into it but it seems, like mike, my ass is owned by all things ginny baker.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's where the plot starts to thicken a little bit more. i imagine there's about another chapter left on this story, then again i've always been the kind of writer to just sort of.... write till i can't write anymore so who even knows.
> 
> quick side note - HUGE thanks to everyone who has left a kudos or a comment or a bookmark or even just clicked on this lil story of mine. it means so so much to me that you all like this, truly.
> 
> as always, i do not own pitch & all typos are my own.

Although rare, weekends off are something that Ginny’s come to utterly appreciate. It’s nice, getting to wake up at 9am instead of 7am and not having to worry about getting to the gym early enough to squeeze in a workout before busting her ass to Petco. There’s also the added bonus of getting to wake up next to Mike, but she’s not about to go sharing that little tidbit with him. He’s already got enough of an inflated ego as it were.

But like always, Monday morning rolls around and reality beckons. It’s how she finds herself, 7am, fresh off an ass-kicking workout, coffee cup in hand and plate of eggs just to the left of her elbow.

“How do you think Amelia’s gonna react?”

Ginny snorted, pulled from her musings, and took a sip of her coffee. “No idea.” 

“That’s reassuring.” Mike quipped.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve _noticed_ , Lawson, but the woman tends to have the a personality of a pissed off Rottweiler when it comes to situations that have the adverse ability to affect me.” 

Mike snorts and Ginny shoots him a half-hearted glare. 

She sighs heavily, setting aside her mug. Her arms cross over her chest and her hip leans against the kitchen counter. “I don’t know how she’s gonna react. I don’t know if she’s gonna tell me to end it or if she’s gonna leak it to prove a point, I don’t know if she’s gonna support it or if she’s just gonna stay silent.” Her voice prattles on, each scenario that filters through her head even more horrific than the last one. “I don’t know.” 

“Hey, hey, hey – take it easy, slugger.” Mike huffs, shifting to catch her eyes with his own. “We’ll figure this out.” He shrugs, easy as can be. As if there’s nothing the two of them can’t solve, so long as their doing it together. 

Ginny’s mouth purses, fighting the smile trying to bloom on her lips. “We will, huh?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you’ll find a girl who’ll slap you on the ass to prove a point.” Mike drawls and Ginny tips her head back, glancing at the ceiling as she remembers that first fateful day on the diamond. “Figured you’re _kind of_ worth it. Plus, you know, the sex ain’t half bad.” 

She throws a hand towel at him.

* * *

 

It’s safe to say Amelia _does not_ support her and Mike.

Within 30 minutes of finally arriving back at her apartment to shower and change before training on that morning, Amelia seems ready to read Ginny the riot act about how she’s throwing away her career for a fling with a man 13 years older than she is.

(Like she’s not aware of that fact. It’s one of the things that keeps her up at night.)

“This isn’t just an affair between you and another player on the team or any other team, Ginny, this is an affair between you and someone who’s 13 years older than you!” Amelia cries, her hands waving and eyes blazing.

Ginny for her part, merely leans against the wall, arms crossed. 

“Do you know what this could do to you if this gets out?” She demands. 

“It won’t get out.” Ginny protests. “Not till I’m ready for it to get out.” 

“Ginny –” Something akin to pity crosses over Amelia’s face. She’s looking at Ginny as if she’s a little girl in her first real relationship and is yet to understand what it means to be with a man. As if she’s in over her head and she doesn’t know what she’s doing by being with him.

  
“No, Amelia.” Ginny states firmly. “No. I know we’ve had a pretty lax sort of relationship over the years and I’ve listened to you a lot of the time because you’re a damn good agent but this? This is different. This is one area that I’m not going to listen to you, okay? This is my personal life. This is the one part of me I don’t have to share with the rest of the world and I’m going to conduct it how I want to conduct it.”

Why is that so hard for people to understand? She gets that she’s the first woman in the MLB and she gets that there are pieces of herself that are always going to belong to the rest of the world, but why does her personal life have to be included in that? 

(Privately, she wonders if this was how Jackie felt when he broke the colour divide. Did he always feel like he was caught between two people, the man he was and the man everyone wanted him to be? She’s just a girl who wants to play baseball, just like she’s sure Jackie was just a man who wanted to play baseball.)

“Oh my God.” Amelia breathes. “You _love_ him.” 

Ginny startles. “What?”

“You love him. Or at the very least, you’re falling for him. 

“No no, I - .” Ginny laughs, the sound coming out near hysterical. Sure, she’s attracted to Mike and she likes him, likes him enough to spend nights and weekends at his apartment and let him do all sorts of dirty things to her. She likes him as a friend and as a teammate since he seems to be one of the only ones who doesn’t always treat her like a little girl, but – love?

The last time she thought she loved someone… or _could_ love them… Trevor is still a fresh wound, despite the two years and eight months it’s been since she was last with him. It’s like a bruise, is the thing. Normally she can go around, not worrying about it or thinking about but something will happen that’ll press against that bruise and she’s starkly reminded of breaking her rules does. Of how her teammates leered at her, asking for a chance to tap that ass so they could go to the big leagues too. She can remember it acutely how she’d made progress in Texas only for it all fall to the wayside because she was stupid enough to think that she found a good egg in a world surrounded by bad eggs.

“Ginny.” Amelia states softly and the pity morphs into something akin to understanding.

“No. No just – don’t.” She shook her head, curls wild and flying around her face. “I can’t go there, not after – after Trevor.” 

Amelia scoffs bitterly, her slim iPhone spinning in her fingertips. It’s time like these she forgets how much the blonde hates the other catcher for doing what he did. “Trevor was an asshole. Who manipulated you and your situation and kept secrets from you. It’s hardly a point of comparison.” 

Ginny snorted, pressing her lips together. “Doesn’t change the fact that – I loved him, at least a little bit.” She shrugged helplessly, “And the shit I caught after being so stupid to go to one of his games. Can you imagine the shit I’m going to catch if –”

“Do you want this?” Amelia questions, eyes clear and voice strong.

Ginny can’t say anything. Does she want this? She knows it’s something, something that has the potential to be more, to be _amazing_ … she knows that it’s the same for Mike, that he’s there with her, but. Does she want it? It’s one thing to dip your toes in the shallow end of the pool, to play with the ramifications. It’s quite another to dive into the deep end, unsure if you’re going to surface. 

“Ginny.” Amelia interrupts her thoughts. “Do. You. Want. This? As much as you've wanted anything else? As much - as much as you want to play in the majors?”

It’s do or die. Her heartbeat ticks up, beating faster and faster against her ribcage, so loud that she thinks the whole of Petco Park could possibly hear her. Her teeth tug on her bottom lip and she feels this close to having a damn panic attack. But she also feels calm, and it's such an odd contrast that the volatile hurricane of emotions swirling inside of her is nowhere near lessening.

“Yeah.” The word comes out choked and garbled. (She wants it, wants it so much more than she thought she ever would. So what if it’s the first line of her biography – _hey isn’t that the first woman in baseball who fucked her team captain?_ – she wants it.)

“Okay.” Amelia nods once, a slight smile on her face. “Here’s what we do.”


	5. Chapter 5

Never let it be said that Amelia Slater doesn’t know what she’s doing, Ginny muses, watching as the blonde taps away purposefully on her laptop, the details of their coming out plan seemingly flowing from her fingertips and into the word document she most likely has open. 

What she could possibly need to type, Ginny has no idea – all she truly knows about this plan is that involves things,

Mike kicks out his foot, nudging her ankle and drawing Ginny’s gaze. “You okay?”

She snorted. “Didn’t you ask me that already?” 

“Didn’t you avoid the question already?”

She quiets, not quite sure what to say. Was she okay? She didn’t honestly know – she wanted this, wanted to be with him and be able to hold his hand in public and not have to constantly answer ‘I’m just having fun right now.’ whenever any news outlet asked her the status of her relationship, (something, she notes, has been happening with reoccurring frequency as of late.) She’s not sure she’s okay because this whole thing as the potential to blow up in their faces, ruin her career before it’s even begun and destroy what legacy he’s trying to create.

She knows all of this and that doesn’t make her want it any less. (Is she selfish, for wanting him even when she might ruin him? Maybe… - and that’s what she can’t answer if she’s okay. Because she’s a selfish woman and she doesn’t even are.) 

“Ginny.” Mike says forcefully. “You okay?”

Ginny shrugged. “Not sure I can keep a secret for as long as Amelia’s hoping I can.”

His lips purse and he shuffles on the couch, moving closer to her, arm slinging around her shoulders and “We don’t have to do this you know. We can just…”

“What? Run away? Change our names?” Ginny drawled, amused. “Live our lives in some quiet little shack on the beach?”

Mike tipped his head, pondering the idea. “Well, I’m not opposed to such a reality…”

Ginny laughs, curling her head into his chest and curving her body around his own. Mike’s lips press a kiss into her forehead and she sighs, eyes screwing shut. The _tap tap tap_ sound of Amelia on her laptop in the corner never falters and for that, she’s thankful.

Her agent is many things, but at least Ginny never has to doubt where Amelia’s loyalties lie.

“It’s gonna be fine.” He mutters and Ginny nods.

“Yeah.”

* * *

The relationship of Mike Lawson and Ginny Baker comes to light one year after his retirement. (Only three people know they truly started dating a whole two years before that fact, and Ginny likes it that way.)

Amelia spins it as such:

They go out to lunch, in public, two weeks after Mike retires. They hug. The paparazzi loose their shit.

They’re seen grabbing coffee; Ginny kisses him on the cheek as she leaves.

They go to breakfast; Mike kisses her on the cheek as he leaves. 

Four months after that first lunch date, they go to dinner with Blip and Evelyn at nice, slightly fancy restaurant in LA. A lucky paparazzi snaps a photo of the two of them holding hands. Two months after that dinner date, Amelia releases a statement.

_Ginny Baker, dear and trusted friend, former mentee of Mike Lawson, had begun spending time with said former catcher of the Padres, in a capacity that had supported the living legend in the transition from active player to retired player… they have, for all intents and purposes, begun to care for one another in a way that is no longer that of pitcher and catcher, of friends and colleagues._

(She had to log out of her Twitter account for a week after the story blew up.)

(Mike didn’t – his notifications were an endless source of strife and amusement for her.)

She does Fallon, dodges the questions about the state of her love life. The only time she gives an answer, she thinks she knocks it out of the park – (“You know, I know that I’m a public figure and that my existence means something to a lot of people, but I’ve always thought my private life isn’t included in that. So, all I’ll say on the matter is that… yes, I’m dating Mike Lawson and he makes me happy. Stupidly so, sometimes. Nothing else matters to me aside from that.”) 

He does Kimmel, gets labeled as the dude who did it – who actually managed to get the first woman in baseball. He quite literally looses his shit. (“Lemme tell you something, this girl – this woman. – First and foremost, she’s a gamer. She’s a ballplayer, one of the best I’ve known the odd-20 years I’ve been doing this. To reduce her to a relationship status, after everything she’s done and fought to have? It’s not only pathetic but it’s disgusting.”) 

Life continues. Her shoulder gives out and she weeps as the ortho doctor tells her she might never pitch quite the same but Mike is by her side.

His knees need reconstruction and their break-up during that time period, because she refuses to be an emotional crutch for him, is perhaps the worst thing she’s ever gone through.

She dates a basketballer, cries after he tries to kiss her in his car. (She shows up on Mike’s doorstep three days later, asking if she can come home.)

Life moves on. They ebb and flow but the one thing that stays strong is Mike by her side. And on her wedding day, watching as his eyes shine with tears, feeling the presence of her father over her shoulder, she’s eternally grateful she took a chance on him all those years ago in Chicago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus that marks the end of short days, long nights. thank you so so so so much to everyone who read this fic of mine, (my first foray into the pitch fandom) and gave it love and support. it truly means so much to me. really. all the love x


End file.
